CHORAL HYMN. STROPHE I. Who gave her a name So true to her fame? Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word? Sways there in heaven a viewless power O'er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour? Who gave her a name, This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame, The spear-wooed maid of Greece? Helen the taker![n57] 'tis plain to see A taker of ships, a taker of men, A taker of cities she. From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled, By the breath of giant[n58] Zephyr sped, And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array Hounded her flight o'er the printless way, Where the swift-plashing oar The fair booty bore To swirling Simois' leafy shore, And stirred the crimson fray. ANTISTROPHE I. For the gods sent a bride, Kin but not kind,[n59] Ripe with the counsel of wrath to Troy, In the fulness of years, the offender to prove, And assert the justice of Jove; For great Jove is lord Of the rights of the hearth and the festal board. The sons of Priam sang A song to the praise of the bride: From jubilant throats they praised her then, The bride from Hellas brought; But now the ancient city hath changed Her hymn to a doleful note. She weeps bitter tears; she curses the head Of the woe-wedded Paris; she curses the bed Of the beautiful bride That crossed the flood, And filched the life of her sons, and washed Her wide-paved streets with blood. {63} STROPHE II. Whoso nurseth the cub of a lion Weaned from the dugs of its dam, where the draught Of its mountain-milk was free, Finds it gentle at first and tame. It frisks with the children in innocent game, And the old man smiles to see; It is dandled about like a babe in the arm, It licketh the hand that fears no harm, And when hunger pinches its fretful maw, It fawns with an eager glee. ANTISTROPHE II. But it grows with the years; and soon reveals The fount of fierceness whence it came: And, loathing the food of the tame, It roams abroad, and feasts in the fold, On feasts forbidden, and stains the floor Of the house that nursed it with gore. A curse they nursed for their own undoing, A mouth by which their own friends shall perish; A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin,[n60] Some god hath taught them to cherish. STROPHE III. Thus to Troy came a bride of the Spartan race, With a beauty as bland as a windless calm, Prosperity's gentlest grace; And mild was love's blossom that rayed from her eye, The soft-winged dart that with pleasing pain Thrills heart and brain. But anon she changed: herself fulfilled Her wedlock's bitter end; A fatal sister, a fatal bride, Her fateful head she rears; Herself the Erinnys from Jove to avenge The right of the injured host, and change The bridal joy to tears.